


Little talks

by ferggirl



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 04:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3515624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferggirl/pseuds/ferggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What’s wrong."</p>
<p>"Why does something have to be wrong?" Paige ducks into the room and curls herself into a little ball at the end of his bed.</p>
<p>"It’s nearly three in the morning." He eases the door closed and turns to lean against it, watching her closely for body language, a sign of what she needs. "You were given several high-dose painkillers by the ER, and you’re spending your first night away from Ralph in four months. It’s not an especially challenging conclusion."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little talks

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from lightedwindows on tumblr: Walter/Paige, after 2 am

It’s been a very long day.

Walter’s mind refuses to quiet, not that he’s particularly surprised. It’s unhelpful to sleep after a mission. He normally spends most of his night reviewing the ins and outs of the plan, where he could have been better, how close to death they’d been. 

Today it had been Paige. 

Brave, illogical Paige had broken from her hiding place to buy the team time as they raced to finish the high-tech fix that would save an entire city block. She’d been rewarded with a black eye and a split lip from a gun across her face. 

Walter can’t remember the last time his hands shook that badly. 

They’re still shaking, little tremors that he knows are merely results of the remnants of an adrenaline rush. 

They were steadier when he wrapped them around her, though. 

It’s a useless train of thought, but he’s still annoyed. She should know better - know that Ralph would be lost without her. That Sylvester and Happy and Toby need her even if they don’t always acknowledge her usefulness. 

That he can’t lose her. 

He rolls to his side and glares as the hotel clock flips from 2:34 to 2:35 am. He’s just flipped open his laptop when there’s a knock on his door.

"Walter?"

"Uh, it’s open." But he’s moving anyway, across the room in a few quick strides to pull the door open. "What’s wrong."

Paige looks tired and in pain, the redness of her bruised face giving way now to the purples and yellows that will linger as she heals. His fingers itch to smooth over the cuts on her cheek. 

"Why does something have to be wrong?" She ducks into the room and curls herself into a little ball at the end of his bed.

He takes a deep breath. He’s surprised she came to him. Restlessness and debriefing after hard missions are more in Toby’s area of expertise. 

"It’s nearly three in the morning." He eases the door closed and turns to lean against it, watching her closely for body language, a sign of what she needs. "You were given several high-dose painkillers by the ER, and you’re spending your first night away from Ralph in four months. It’s not an especially challenging conclusion."

She tucks her chin onto her knees and looks at him, her eyes far too clear for someone who was supposed to be using opioids to get a good rest. 

"You didn’t take the medicine."

"Never been a fan." She answers gingerly, and her wince as the skin on her face pulls at the damage prompts an answering twist in his chest. "Especially not since Ralph was born."

"Paige, you were hit in the face with the butt of a gun." He takes slow steps toward her. "Those pills are not just for pain, but to reduce the swelling and speed your recovery."

She’s closed her eyes, and he can look at her without needing to worry about the visual cues he may be sending. For a moment he just stands there, letting his brain absorb her presence, reminding himself that she is here, alive and relatively unharmed.

"You’re upset with me." Her voice is low and sure. 

"That’s absurd."

"Walter." One eye cracks open. "You’re upset with me. Why?"

"You distracted me."

Now both of her eyes are open. “I’m sorry?”

"Today, during the mission, you changed the plan without my approval at a critical moment, it was - it was distracting." 

Terrifying. They’re distantly similar. It’s not really lying. 

"Distracting." Her tone of voice is distinctly surprised. "Because I changed the plan. Not because of the gun to the face?"

He clenches his hands, fighting the tremor. “That was also - that did not help me focus.”

"I’ve stood next to you with Happy stuck 50 feet in the air, with Toby under fire, with Sylvester terrified and useless. I can’t say I’ve ever seen you distracted when those plans changed."

"It’s different." He goes to his bathroom sink and tears the plastic wrap off one of the little styrofoam cups. The water here should be safe enough, but just to be safe he digs out the bottle he’d thrown into his backpack and fills it to the top.

"Why, Walter? Why would it be any different? You say I’m part of the team, and then things like this happen."

"Here," he holds out the cup until she wraps one of her hands around it. "The pills are in your pocket?"

"I don’t - answer my question, please." She tries to scowl, but gives up, gasping halfway through the attempt. 

"Take the pills and I’ll tell you." His brain offers up a dozen reasons why telling her is a terrible idea. But she’s winced five times since she came to his room. They hold each others’ gaze, neither feeling particularly like backing down. "Please."

She softens, just a bit, and he nods to the cup. When she’s taken the dose, he takes the cup from her and sets it on his nightstand. Then he sits on the bed, feeling the mattress dip beneath his weight, tipping her slightly in his direction.

"It’s different because you’re different," he starts, only to be cut off by a sigh from Paige.

"Just because I’m not a genius, Walter, doesn’t mean I’m incapable-"

"No, no, I didn’t mean that." His hands are shaking again, something he doesn’t register until she reaches over and covers his left with her right. "None of us are trained for the life or death situations we keep finding ourselves in. I’ve actually been thinking that we should enroll in some combat training, except that we did so poorly as a team in the military exercises."

Her hand squeezes his, and he clears his throat. “You’re different. To - to me.” He turns her hand so that he can wrap his fingers around hers.

"Walter?" Her eyelids are drooping, the medicine exaggerating her exhaustion. But he can see the question on her bruised face. 

"I know I’m a difficult team leader, at times obtuse and apparently unfeeling. But the others, they’re like family. Of course I worry, when they’re in danger. When they put themselves in harm’s way, like you did today."

Her hand is warm and soft, her grip a bit loose. There’s a scrape on her knuckles from where she punched the man who first grabbed her. 

"As much as I care about them, though, I have come to the conclusion that I care about you more. I was afraid, Paige, and then I was angry that you would take that risk. Except you didn’t have all the information, you didn’t know that I - that I…"

She’s quiet, her hand still in his, and he sighs to himself before glancing over at her. As he expects, she is fast asleep, her uninjured cheek pillowed on her knees.

"That I love you." He whispers the words, letting their weight drag them from his lips to finish the sentence. Then he turns and scoops her up in his arms.

Better to keep an eye on her, in case she experiences side effects from the medication. He doesn’t want her waking with night terrors and finding herself alone. 

He doesn't want to be alone. 

So he tucks her into his bed and settles into the little cushioned armchair in the corner to keep watch. 

It’s the best sleep he’s had in weeks.


End file.
